


Missing Something?

by gvarchangel



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen, Stealing, Thief, fight, rogue - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 16:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15822834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gvarchangel/pseuds/gvarchangel
Summary: Just a little thing I wrote for my halfling rogue I played in my D&D campaign until recently. (Rogue survived, campaign ended, nobody panic.) Anyway, after I got a bit of art made for him, I had to make a little mini story to go with it. As such, here it is.Everyone, say hi to Tiny Corvo. The most stab happy spider halfling you'll ever meet. Assuming you notice him stealing your wallet.Art comes from Palavenmoons on Tumblr. Not all of my art comes from her, I promise.





	Missing Something?

Brirea pulls a map from her pack, then spreads it across the table. Shay, occupied with his ale, doesn’t bother sitting up. Rana leans over for a better look, the flame in her hand burning dangerously close to the furniture. Tyrril tries to memorize the parchment like the eager student he is. Brirea's taught him a lot, but navigation is still a work in progress.

“I’ve got an arrow with your name on it if you get mud on my map,” the drow says with quiet sternness, pointing to Shay’s boots on the table.

“Yes, ma’am.” He removes his feet from the furniture, and then the greatsword from his back. The massive, coolly glowing steel leans against his chair as he matches their leader’s glare. He could just be getting comfortable, but Tyrril suspects something more. Shay claims his blatant distrust of dark elves is “a part of his heritage.” The only reason he tolerates Brirea is her tracking abilities. She’s made them a lot of money, enough to keep the pair civil. But they both know the moment the partnership quits being profitable, one of them will be dead.

“Easy, both of you,” Rana says, cutting in. The dwarf has to stand on her chair to match the sitting height of the others, but that doesn’t matter. Everyone knows she has more than enough magic to burn the tavern down. It makes her a good peacekeeper. “You can fight after I get paid.”

  
  


The barkeep, a pale man slender enough to be blown over by a sneeze, brings Shay another tankard. He keeps his eyes down, not meeting the eyes of the group. “Anything else I can get you?” he asks submissively.

Shay swaps his empty drink for the fresh one, then takes a long pull from it. The waiter is smart enough not to mention the payment. He’ll make profit off the other patrons here tonight.

“Water,” Brirea says. Her eyes stay on Shay with a disgusted look.

Rana begins tossing her flame like a ball between her hands. The man ducks to the side as reflex, but keeps his head down.

“We’re fine, thanks,” Tyrril blurts out in apology. He feels a little bad for him: the pack of bounty hunters in his bar is probably the last thing he needs.

He nods quickly, then heads back to the bar. Shay chuckles at his fear, while the other two dismiss it. Tyrril begins to spin one of his daggers as a way of fidgeting. He doesn’t like the tension in the room. High bounties always put the group on edge.

  
  


Brirea finally points to the map, noting the town less than a mile from theirs. Rana’s magic and the tavern’s fireplace illuminate it clearly. “My contacts confirmed the bounties are legitimate. Only the elf knight is clean.”

“She’s probably better at not getting caught,” Rana says. “Or at burning witnesses.”

“Just means one less body to carry,” Brirea continues. “We’ll have to isolate them. The Kenku has the least worth, but I want to deal with him first. They’re still picking the ones he killed out of the ceilings in Woodsedge. After that, the rest should be easy marks.”

“The halfling is still worth the most, right? 23,000 total?” Tyrril asks confidently. He’s trying to prove he’s been learning from his tutors. General thievery was something he was used to: hunting people is a different beast. Thankfully, Brirea doesn’t mind the occasional stupid question and is grateful to have someone good with locks around.

Brirea nods. “The thief. Green eyes, black hair, likes daggers. They’ve got another halfling, a blonde bard, but this one’s almost worth more than the rest combined. Druma wants him first, then we can drag him to Cheliax.”

“And they’re both willing to pay for the little bastard,” Shay chuckles greedily. “He’ll keep my pockets lined for a good while.”

“Assuming we can catch them. They’re supposed to be heading to Five Kings Mountain, so they’ll have to pass through here. We need to be ready,” Brirea says cautiously.

  
  


“Trust me, no one’s ever ready for Swif,” a voice answers from behind Shay.

The broad man turns to yell at the uninvited guest, then stops. The other members of the party slowly lean to see the intruder.

A halfling sits with one leg folded over the other in a chair his size. A mask shaped like a raven sits atop his head, casting a shadow over his scarred face. His green eyes almost shine in the shade, as does his confident smirk. Tyrril can count at least four daggers on his dark leather armor, but no other obvious weapons. They must be in the backpack against the wall behind him. He has a tea cup in his right hand, while his left is tossing a small bag. Corvo Millbridge, wanted for two dozen murders and four dozen counts of theft.

“Believe me, I’ve tolerated him for months: the damned bird still gives me nightmares,” he chuckles. “Impulsive, way too skilled with magic, no concern for collateral. Smart decision to deal with him first. You don’t give Flynn enough credit, though. He’s craftier than he looks.”

As Shay stands, the halfling sips his steaming tea. “You were stupid to come here, little one.”

“Check your pockets,” he says calmly, almost looking past the fighter. The bag he's tossing jingles louder as the room grows silent.

Each of the group reaches down to their hip and finds only empty coin purses. The bags are still there, but only dust remains in them.

“Missing something? I also got the fancy daggers you carry for your little club. Smarter than giving out tattoos: easier to remove when someone leaves,” Corvo explains with a growing grin.

  
  


The fighter lurches for his greatsword, cursing loudly in a language the half-elf doesn’t understand. The he shrieks with a dagger pointing from his shoulder. It’s enough to make him stumble into the table while he gropes for the blade. Tyrril spots the design on the hilt, the spinning snakes with an imitation ruby between them. It’s Shay’s, a clone of the daggers each of them are supposed to have.

Brirea and Rana are finally standing, eyes locked on the halfling. The drow has her hand angled towards her bow, while the flame in the dwarf’s hand has grown significantly.

“Think about it, idiots,” Corvo says with a sardonic grin. The attack didn’t even disrupt his gold tossing or tea. “I got close enough to slit each of your throats, but all I took was gold and daggers. Every breath you take is a gift from me. I only want one thing in return.”

Brirea never flinches, but she seems to pause. Tyrril knows that face: she’s weighing her options, looking for a way to get the upper hand. She hates the idea of losing to a mark. “Name it.” She’s stalling.

“Get out. I don’t care who you go after, but it’s not me or my company,” he answers, locking eyes with the woman easily three feet taller than him. The humor in his face and voice is gone. “I’ll even give you back enough gold for your trip. All I want is to be left alone.”

“Does this asshole know how much he’s worth?” Rana says loudly over Shay’s groaning. “We were hired personally to catch your ass, for triple our rates.”

“You’re either losing gold or blood. Make your choice,” Corvo says calmly. He takes another sip of his drink, still tossing the gold like a taunt. Or a threat.

Tyrril is finally standing, reaching for his own daggers when he looks over the room. The tavern is completely empty, even the barkeep hidden away somewhere. They didn’t run past their table after the thief revealed himself: they left before that. He got them out without any of their group noticing. In the back of his head, he realizes they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.

  
  


Shay finally digs the blade from his shoulder, then draws his greatsword. Corvo sighs, putting his tea aside and stowing the gold in a pocket. The drow’s hand drifts closer to her bow, while Rana creates a ball of pale lightning to match her flames. Tyrril grips his dagger nervously, then draws another for his other hand. The halfling slides his mask on, hiding his eyes behind the wooden raven.

Shay growls. “I’m going to enjoy tearing you apart, you moth- “

Two daggers fly in a blur. Rana gets a magic shield up in time to deflect one into the ceiling. Shay sidesteps to dodge, letting the other soar towards Brirea instead. The drow takes it in her padded side. It doesn’t pierce through her leather armor, but the quick movement makes her drop the bow. Corvo is on their fighter almost before Tyrril can blink. He slips under the first swing of the chilled sword, and leans just out of the second strike’s arc. Shay starts to scream as the halfling rolls between his legs. The daggers in each of his hands are dripping crimson blood.

Tyrril swings his knives with a practiced feint on the left, then stab on the right. Corvo parries the first, but the second blade leaves a clean line up his arm. He growls and ducks back towards Shay before Tyrril can strike again. Heat fills the room as Rana prepares another flame. The halfling leaps onto Shay’s back and sinks daggers into the flesh just below the shoulders. With a twist of his blades and hips, the thief turns the fighter into a literal meat shield. Rana’s fireball slams into Shay’s chest before she can cancel the spell. The human screams for the third time.

The assassin keeps spinning and positions Shay between himself and Tyrril. A kick to the head sends the massive fighter toppling into him. The half-elf is almost crushed under the dead weight, leaving him powerless to do anything but watch. Brirea finally sends an arrow at her target, its silver head glowing with power. Corvo slips under it while Rana shouts another spell. A gale wind catapults the table towards the halfling. Rather than dodging, he jumps towards it feet first. Brirea is already backing up with another arrow in her bow.

  
  


Corvo somehow hangs onto the table while it spins for the briefest second. When it faces Rana again, he launches off in a tumble. If the dwarf were larger, she may have been able to shrug the tackle off. But instead, they both slam into the floor. Luck somehow puts Rana on the side closest to Brirea, blocking her shot again. The sorceress has a second to understand what happened before two daggers slice through her neck.

As her mark scrambles across the floor, Brirea starts launching arrows at blinding speed. He rolls away from each of them until he reaches the wall. The drow smiles at the cornered prey. He throws two more blades while finally finding his feet. She leans out of its path before sending a shot directly in front of him. If he were running at her along the floor, it would’ve taken his head.

But he’s not. His bare feet cling to the wall as if it were the ground. In a sprint upward, he somehow climbs to the ceiling while launching another pair of daggers. She pauses in surprise, then takes a blade to the stomach. Now completely upside down, attached to the roof with nothing but his feet, he makes a dash towards her.

Not even Tyrril expected Shay to stand up again. But through the burned flesh and blood loss, the man climbs to his feet with the greatsword hanging loosely in his hand. His barbaric roar gives the halfling pause, and Brirea her first shot at a stationary target. But the blood on her hands makes her release the arrow prematurely and miss him by several feet. Shay rushes in a rage while the half-elf slinks into a corner. None of their other targets managed to even wound them before, let alone make Brirea have that terrified look on her face.

The halfling’s surprise fades and he prepares for the coming attacks. The greatsword comes at him almost synchronized with another arrow. He sidesteps both in a dancer’s spin. Then he’s on Shay’s shoulders like a massive bird. Daggers pierce either side of the human’s head, silencing him. He falls for a final time not five feet from his drow companion.

Panic falls on Brirea. She swings wildly with her bow at the assassin. One of his blades, still dripping with Shay’s blood, deflects the attack while another slashes her hand. She drops the weapon, shrieking in rage and fear. Corvo takes the swing’s momentum, dropping one of his daggers for her bow, and cracks it across her head. One scream is her final sound before his remaining blade stabs into her eye. She slumps to the ground, thankfully facing the wall instead of the terrified half-elf.

  
  


He pants quietly for a few seconds, only standing while blood drips from his arms. “Assholes, why didn’t you just leave…” he whispers. The calm in his voice almost scares Tyrril more.

Brirea’s pack is a few feet from her body. The halfling digs a bandage from it, then wraps the cut of his arm. He does a short series of stretches, apparently checking for more injuries. After a minute, he seems satisfied. He takes a clean portion of Brirea’s cloak and uses it to wipe himself off.

Tyrril almost makes a break for it when the assassin turns towards him. He tries to make himself small in the corner as he approaches. None of his weapons are out, but Tyrril’s not sure if that makes him feel better or not.

Curled up on the floor, he’s eye level with the halfling when he reaches him. The mask’s beak almost pokes him in the nose, which should’ve made him laugh. The soulless green gems that replace his eyes prevent that reaction. The part of his face he can see is devoid of emotion, as best he can tell. The sardonic grin and bloodthirsty growl he sported earlier are gone. A part of his brain realizes this is the first halfling he’s ever seen that has some stubble for a beard.

“The dwarf said you were hired personally,” he states quietly. “Who was it?”

Tyrril finds his throat dry and unable to make a sound. He opens his mouth once, and only air passes through.

  
  


Corvo sighs, taking his mask off and letting his black hair fall to his shoulders. He actually looks a little sad now, and older than the posters made him out to be. He’s supposed to be in his fifties, barely an adult to full-blood elves, but his face shows many more years. Or maybe it’s the miles that came with them.

“Take it easy, alright?” he says with a small grin. It’s blatantly false, barely hiding whatever darkness is in his mind. But it somehow sets Tyrril at ease. “Just answer my questions. That’s all I want.”

Tyrril swallows a bit of spit and finds a weak voice. “A noble, in Cheliax.”

“Pale guy, bald, glass eye that doesn’t quite match the normal one?”

The half-elf agrees silently.

Corvo scoffs. “Old Movor needs to get over it. His cousins got what was coming to them.”

“He gave us the first bounty. Rana heard about the others on our way here,” Tyrril explains.

One of the halfling’s eyebrows raises in a question. “What others? From Cheliax, Druma?”

“Druma, all of them. Everyone you travel with has a price.” He points to Shay’s sword scabbard. Corvo investigates the wooden sheath and finds the hidden pocket quickly.

All five sheets of parchment fall out. The three unique posters show a blonde elven woman, another halfling, and a Kenku in their portraits. Their crimes, bounties, and instructions for turning them in are below each picture. The main offense mentioned of his companions’ posters are “Questioning in the death of Lady Ravenhelm,” but they each include different minor felonies. The bird has stolen several books and magical trinkets, while the bard is accused of playing a part in some minor revolution. Caiphyra, the elf, apparently has some very special artifacts that don’t belong to her. But all of them are to be brought to Lord Strikken in Druma alive, to the tune of roughly 8,000 gold apiece.

But the posters with Corvo’s portraits tell two different stories. The first mostly matches the others: to be brought to Strikken, questions about Ravenhelm, a few charges of theft and murder of corrupt leaders. The bounty on that poster alone is just shy of ten thousand. The other posting, bestowed onto them by their employer, mentions similar crimes in Cheliax. The primary crime, however, is the murder of the House Abele’s entire noble line, as well as six of their personal guards. The price for his head there is 13,000 gold, alive or dead.

  
  


“Got to be shitting me,” he whispers. He seems angry, afraid, and confused all at once.

“We found the others when we crossed into Galt,” the half-elf tries to explain quietly. “Brirea had some friends look into it, they’re all legitimate. Lord Strikken’s bounty is public, free to anyone who wants to try. But the other one from Cheliax is just for us, maybe one or two other groups.”

Corvo sighs, then purses his lips in thought. After a few moments, he folds all of the posters into his own pocket. “Make sure Abele doesn’t find out you’re alive, and get out of the bounty hunter business now: you won’t get this lucky twice.”

Looking around to the bodies of his fallen party, he nods quickly. “I-I will. Thank y-you!”

As Tyrril climbs to his feet, a small purse flies into his chest. The heavy jingle of gold sounds as he catches it. He looks up to the halfling.

The short thief flashes another false smile, then shows a fistful of coin. “I kept my half. Grab whatever you need to get home off your friends. The rest is mine.”

Tyrril wastes no time collecting his bag, then the provisions from the other packs. The only questionable thing he takes is Shay’s sword: it’s too big for him, but he can sell it later. Corvo doesn’t seem to notice or care as he walks up to the bar. He has the cup of tea again in his right hand, still steaming. Without a word, Tyrril dashes out the door.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brivud finally stands up from behind his shelter, looking nervously across the room. When all he sees is the cloaked halfling sitting on the bar, he’s more than relieved. One homicidal adventurer is better than five. And this one seems somewhat reasonable. He warned him with enough time to hide. Based on the bodies and shattered table in his dad's bar, he's thankful he did.

The raven mask is off-putting, but he ignores that as he approaches what he hopes is a paying customer. He’ll have to clean the bodies and blood eventually, but he’d rather wait until he’s stopped shaking for that. Although the halfling seems content with his tea, it can’t hurt to ask if he wants something.

Before he can say anything, his guest drops five gold pieces on the counter beside him. They land in a perfect stack like poker chips, shining brightly in the flame-lit tavern.

“I have four companions coming in a half hour,” the small, well-armed guest says. “Please clean this up before they get here. There’s another five in it for you if you don’t mention this to them.”

“Why?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. He takes a step back, ready for one of his daggers to fly his way.

The customer sighs, pushing his black hair behind his ear. “There’s some things they don’t need to know about me.”

He drops from the counter, then walks to the fireplace. It’s burning with a cozy warmth, meant to deal with the coolness of the approaching autumn. Without a word, he takes some parchments from a pocket, and drops them into the flame. The barkeep can’t make out anything from his position, but the halfling watches them closely until every bit is ash.

  
  


 

 


End file.
